Bother
by ImmortalFlick
Summary: Draco has never bothered before, so why now? Slash. Cutting. HPDM
1. Chapter One

Bother  
  
ImmortalFlick  
  
Warnings: SLASH. CUTTING. Other warnings later.  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.  
  
A/N: Named after a song I was listening to, don't ask why, it just inspired me.  
  
A/N2: It's been revised (changed a bit), I hope it's better, not worse. The second chapter shouldn't be too far away.  
  
(/)  
  
Bother - Chapter One   
  
(/)  
  
Suddenly, Harry's privacy was broken when the door slammed open and someone rushed in. At first, they didn't notice him in the corner, blood down his arms and on his shirt. At first, he stood over the sink, ran the tap and splashed water in their face, eyes red rimmed. It wasn't until a moment later that they turned around in horror at the reflection in the mirror. For the first time in his life, including all his expeditions with Voldemort, he felt true terror.  
  
(/)  
  
Harry's mind drew a blank. A total blank. It had been frozen since the boy had slammed through the door at break-neck speed. It had been frozen since he'd noticed the boy was, in fact, Draco Malfoy. It was still frozen when the boy turned around. He felt a little dizzy, though he didn't move. This was typical.  
  
(/)  
  
Draco's tears were brushed away angrily, his sleeve coarse against his face, his steps echoed throughout the empty hall. No fucking way. No bloody fucking way.   
  
The bathroom was there. He heard some voices, he ran through the door. No one could see him like this. Such a fucking child. Draco leaned over the sink and ran the tap, his heart racing. The voices went past. He splashed his face with the ice-cold water. His eyes burned. He looked up, they were red, bloody hell.   
  
But there was nothing to prepare him for when he glanced to the side and saw someone propped against the wall. Nothing at all to prepare him for the knife, the blood and the cuts on the boy's arms. And there was nothing in the world that could prepare him for when he noticed who the boy was.  
  
"What the fuck are you doing?"  
  
(/)  
  
It was a stupid question considering it was pretty clear. "What do you think, Malfoy?"  
  
"I think you're fucking crazy!"  
  
"Think what you want, now, piss off!" Why wasn't he leaving? What was there to see?  
  
"No." No? What did he mean no?  
  
"Malfoy, just get out."  
  
"What do you think you're doing?"  
  
"Just. Get. Out." Harry gritted his teeth. This was like a really bad nightmare. This was worse than Voldemort. It was one thing to be expected to exact revenge on the murder of your parents. It was another to be found cutting by your archenemy.   
  
"Bloody hell." Malfoy'd just about summed it up in two words. Harry was still waiting for him to leave. He wasn't some sideshow. He almost wanted to scream when the other boy slid down the wall and sat opposite him. He would get up, but he wasn't going to satisfy the smug boy who insulted him every turn. This didn't matter, Harry told himself, Malfoy was nothing.  
  
Eventually he had to say something. "What you doing?"  
  
"Staying. What do you think? You've been strange for the past four months. Do you think I'm stupid? Now, this? Give me some more credit than that, Potter."  
  
"So, you're saying, that you're going to sit here, in the bathroom, with me, to make sure I don't go off myself!" It was a ridiculous notion. Harry stared at his enemy with disbelief.  
  
"I suppose. Look Potter, I don't plan on leaving you here to die. What are you doing here, anyway?"  
  
Harry looked at him, curiously. "I think it's pretty obvious."  
  
"No, I mean, why here? Why not somewhere more private?"  
  
"Hardly anyone comes in here, and I'm Harry Potter, do you think I have any privacy?"  
  
"Well, I don't know, Potter, you could always just drop in for a tea party with the Dark Lord himself, it could solve all your problems." Malfoy said sarcastically. "And tie your wrists with something, you're bleeding everywhere."  
  
Harry looked down at his wrists. "I like them like this." He whispered.  
  
Malfoy gave him a sour and slightly disgusted look. "You see, that's what bothers me. If you, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, can be so suicidal, then where's the hope for the rest of us?" There was a large pause. "You know, I always expected you to die a martyr."  
  
"Jump on the bandwagon, Malfoy, so does everyone else, but there's still a chance yet, does it look like I'm on the edge of death?" Harry wondered where his sarcasm was coming from.   
  
"Do you really want me to answer that?"   
  
"I do not!" He growled. His eyes flashed in anger, Malfoy was taken aback for a moment before scowling at Harry.  
  
"You do! You're a wreck!"  
  
"Just because the rest of us don't spend hours fixing our hair in the mirror." Harry snapped. "Malfoy, not everyone is as self-absorbed or conceited as you.   
  
Draco snorted contemptuously. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on with your life. Go fall in love or something." The blond lifted himself up off the tiles. Harry prepared to reach for his wand. But to his surprise Malfoy knelt next to Harry. He tore a strip off the bottom of the Gryffindor's robes and pressed it down around Harry's arm.  
  
It was more out of curiosity than anger that Harry asked, "What are you doing?"  
  
"Do you think I'm just going to let you bleed to death?"  
  
Harry felt a small smile form and suppressed it immediately. "I know what I'm doing, Malfoy, I'm not suicidal."  
  
"You could've fooled me." The Slytherin snarled, slightly put off by the amusement expressed by his enemy. He pressed harder.   
  
"Ouch! What the hell was that for?"  
  
"I'm helping you, you little bastard." Though he wasn't really sure any more.  
  
"Malfoy, I hate you, don't fucking bother!" Draco jumped a bit, it was the first he'd really heard Potter swear.  
  
"And I hate you, you prat." Draco was staring at Harry.   
  
"Then why all this..." Harry trailed off, confused.  
  
There was a heavy silence. A pair of worried eyes met his. It took only a second for the other boy to lift himself and run as fast as he could, away from the bathroom.  
  
(/)  
  
End of Chapter One.   
  
I've only changed a bit. Ah well, that's life. Reviews would be great! (heaps and heaps of them) 


	2. Chapter Two

Bother  
  
Warnings: Again, THIS IS SLASH. Just so you know. Mentions of abuse, cutting, anything else my twisted mind can imagine.  
  
Thanks to: The Little Swimmy Dudette (I hope you get it now), Dervla, Kekepania1, curlytop, Every Now And Then, KittenBabyGirl, FroBoy, CapitulatedDream (hope you did well), kitsune-sama, TheSecretCharacter, Dragon Tears Wing, Lorwyn Daystar, RAiNbOwGrL22 (yes), rena, driven to insanity, FawkesRises, lilypurewhite.  
  
lighted eagle: It's sixth year (after Siri). Harry will say more about cutting next chapter, not much about that this chapter. When Draco stares, there's always a reason. This is DM/HP so it's a safe assumption that there is a reason behind the staring. Hope you enjoy the chapter.  
  
bast4: So many questions. I'm afraid so many of them are ones I can't answer! But you'll find out, I promise, and I'll make sure to answer every question throughout the story (so you'll have to wait). Thanks for the review!  
  
A/N: We find out some very interesting things in this chapter. Draco's view on Voldemort, Harry's view on Voldemort, how gaudy the Gryffindor colours really are, etc.  
  
----  
  
Chapter 2  
  
----  
  
Draco was curious about Potter. More than he should have been. More than was completely safe. And for reasons he'd rather not contemplate.  
  
Draco knew he had nothing to do with Potter, really, and that, in most part, was his fault. He knew he was a bastard. A complete, utter bastard and he didn't hesitate to let it dominate his personality. Because that's what he was. Draco felt no need to be friendly, people were full of shit anyway. Like his father. Draco loved Lucius but the man was full of crap and Draco had known it since he was child. Kissing that old crackpot's robes. Voldemort didn't care about his followers and couldn't care less if they burned in hell. He'd send them there himself. Lucius knew this, or he seemed to, but he still worshipped his lord anyway. There was no excuse for that sort of stupidity.  
  
It wasn't that he didn't believe in the cause. He just didn't believe in the method. The stupid half-blood, yes, Draco knew about that, was no better than a muggle. He was going around killing wizards, didn't they see? He was useless! Of course, Draco had no notions to become a "Lord" himself. He thought that was going about it all wrong. Plus, killing people made him queasy.  
  
----  
  
Harry's mood had taken a rapid dive since the beginning year. Everyone had noticed. Everyone except Ron and Hermione. Fucking each other senseless. They were so in love it hurt. The sickening displays each day, all over each other, they didn't spend a second apart. Of course it meant Harry was shoved into the background. He was now the wallpaper in their lives. Harry wasn't jealous, he wasn't in love with either of them, he just hated that he'd lost his friends because they fell in love.  
  
It was the Christmas holidays. They were the worst yet. Usually one or both of his friends would stay with him in the holidays. Harry didn't mind them going home for the holidays, he couldn't begrudge them that. But a week before these holidays Ron and Hermione had approached him. Holding hands.  
  
"Harry," Ron had said. "We hope you don't mind," If only he'd known the news then so he could say something nasty. "But my family invited Hermione home for the holidays because we're, you know," Ron smiled at Hermione. "together." They leant in like in slow motion. Their lips met and they kissed. It was like a fucking muggle romance. Harry had looked away in disgust.  
  
When they'd begun their relationship they'd told Harry it didn't mean he would be the third wheel. But he was. And it sucked.  
  
Then there was Sirius' death. Left alone with the memories and guilt Harry felt like he was drowning. At first he'd blamed Snape. Then he'd blamed himself. He'd murdered his godfather. He'd murdered Cedric. Hermione and Ron were right to keep away from him. He was a killer. He deserved everything he got. He deserved to hurt. He deserved to die.  
  
Of course there was the prophecy. Fucking Voldemort. Everything was so fucked.  
  
Malfoy's mouth wouldn't stay shut for a second. Rita Skeeter would have a field day with a front page article on the poor, suicidal Boy-Who-Lived. What a pitiful picture. No one would understand it wasn't suicide, they would paint their own portraits of him. Just like they had every other year. The power of the media.  
  
Harry remembered Malfoy's face. He was acting strange, why was he crying? There was no doubt he'd been bawling his eyes out just seconds before he'd come in. The whole mother-hen thing had been amusing but completely inappropriate, not to mention irritating. What did Malfoy think he was doing?  
  
His arm hurt and it was okay. It was meant to hurt. He was meant to hurt.  
  
Harry stared up at the ceiling in the Gryffindor Common Room. The whole room annoyed him. It was red and gold. Red and gold. Two gaudy colours. The danced through the room. Everything was red and gold. He wondered if the other Common Rooms were like this too. Harry had never really thought about it before, but he hated those two colours. He liked blue and gray. What a fucking revelation.  
  
Harry considered his fate if he redecorated. Would McGonagall kill him? Would it be worth it to be rid of these arrogant colours for just one day?  
  
A second year gave him a tentative grin and he tried to return it, he really did. It came out as a faint smile, probably made the poor little bugger's day.  
  
Do you know, a nasty voice spoke, that you'll end up dead because of me? Do you know that you're looking up to a cold-blooded killer?  
  
Harry tried to ignore it. Talking to himself had become a habit of late, one he wasn't too sure of, it made him doubt his sanity.  
  
He had the dorm to himself, no snoring, no muttering, no tossing. No one to wake him up from his nightmares. He cast silencing spells sometimes, the visions had been getting worse. He hadn't been telling Dumbledore, after last year he didn't trust the old man. Even with the visions.  
  
It was getting worse though, Voldemort resided in his head sometimes, it was strange. Harry could just keep him out of control, but the murmuring never stopped. Quiet whispers in the back of his mind, which sometimes grew to actual conversation. It made Harry shiver to think of it. Sometimes Voldemort would try to get deeper into his head. That couldn't happen. He had to appear strong. He knew he should tell Dumbledore, otherwise things might get out of control, but he still couldn't bring himself to say something to the Headmaster.  
  
At least he knew he wasn't insane. That the voice that wasn't his conscience or self-hate talking, the voice that scared him shitless, that voice was real. It belonged to Voldemort. Harry wanted the monster out of his head but maybe, just maybe, he could kill the man out of luck. If he gave something away, said something which could give him away somehow, let Harry inside his head, then maybe Harry could get rid of him.  
  
Sometimes weakness made his knees turn to jelly when Voldemort spoke to him. Other times he'd be so angry that Voldemort would make his head feel like it was going to explode. As punishment.  
  
Harry groaned. His head ached.  
  
-It's only a matter of time, Potter, I can wait, can you?-  
  
The hissing in the back of his head grew louder and with every word Harry could feel power. Voldemort was feeding it to him again. Some sort of temptation, he supposed. Sometimes he let himself play with the idea. Afterwards he would curse himself for his stupidity because every time he played with the power it got harder to pull away. It was dangerous and very risky.  
  
Harry stood. He hated it in here. It was too quiet. Too peaceful. Too warm. He stumbled down the stairs.  
  
The Common Room's bright colours were dulled by the lack of light. Harry sat back on the sofa once again.  
  
Who cared about McGonagall?  
  
Half an hour later everything was at perfection. The walls were a deep purple, the fireplace and stone columns on the wall were gray. The sofas a calm navy blue. The colours wouldn't blend to another's eye but to Harry it was just right. He could finally sigh in relief when he looked around the room.  
  
It took him ten minutes to realize that even the extensive use of magic hadn't tired him. If anything it made him more restless. Voldemort's little boost was less than useful at times.  
  
Harry wondered how he'd grown so used to having the monster in his head. It wasn't normal, that was for certain. Every now and then it was just like comfortable company. Every now and then the conversation would be real, thought-provoking and interesting. Even the discussions on power, the Dark Arts and muggles proved to be rational. Tom could almost be human if he weren't so intent on the corruption of Harry's mind.  
  
"Go away." He muttered at the whispers. They did drop in volume but did not leave.  
  
---- 


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter 3  
  
0-0  
  
-What is this?-  
  
"Nothing, Tom, go away." Harry muttered. The blade ran across his forearm again, blood rose to the surface in it's wake.  
  
-Let me in...- The voice whispered curiously.  
  
Harry didn't reply, he just stared at his arm, a shiver running up his spine in a morbid trill of delight. All the burdens were lifting. This was why he had to do this. Why he wanted to do this.  
  
His friends might say all he had to do was talk to someone but that wouldn't work for him. Harry Potter had to bear the weight himself. To put it upon someone else would just result in him killing another innocent person.  
  
Another line. Another.  
  
-I wouldn't of guessed... that's what you've been keeping from me.-  
  
Harry's rapture was interrupted as what Voldemort was saying sunk in. "What does it matter in the end, Tom?" He answered easily, detached still, calm.  
  
-Weak, Potter, so very weak.-  
  
"It's nice to know you care, really, but if you could let me finish I'd appreciate it." He couldn't keep himself from getting angry with Tom, every piece of his life was invaded. There was no privacy when there was someone in his head. It had to be him.  
  
-I will defeat you or you will defeat yourself, it makes no difference to me, either way I win.- With that parting sentence Harry felt the presence fade. The truth the words held stung slightly but Harry reminded himself he didn't care what Tom thought.  
  
But sometimes...  
  
Harry couldn't pinpoint the moment the voice had ceased to be Voldemort and became Tom. It was an easy transition when he couldn't see the snake-like man. It was also a very dangerous transition.  
  
Since they'd begun to have coherent conversations Harry knew they'd gotten closer. If he didn't know the man was Voldemort... Harry couldn't figure out if he was blending into Tom or if Tom was blending into him.  
  
He needed his friends. Did it matter if it was Voldemort? At least Harry knew where he stood. Tom would certainly never 'turn' on him as Gryffindor had done.  
  
What would Ron and Hermione say if they knew they were being replaced by a voice in his head? What would Sirius say if he knew Harry was conversing with the man who'd killed James and Lily Potter?  
  
Harry clenched his fist around cold metal. He looked down in surprise. He had forgotten the knife in his hands and the freedom he'd felt just minutes before. Suddenly he felt the desperate need to make it return.  
  
0-0  
  
"I'm worried about Harry." Hermione said suddenly, startling Ron.  
  
"What's there to worry about?" He asked, scratching letters into the table. "Harry's fine."  
  
"He's got a weeks worth of detentions with McGonagall. What possessed him to go change the Common Room like that, though? He didn't even care he got the detentions, he didn't make fun, he didn't get angry, he just didn't care. It's like he's just pretending," She stared at the small figures on the Quidditch Pitch. Slytherin. "And stop mutilating the table, it's school property."  
  
Ron ignored the last comment, biting his tongue as he fixed his 'F'. "If Harry needs to talk to us, he'll talk to us."  
  
"He won't say anything until it's vital like he always does. I don't know why he's so stubborn!"  
  
"He's Harry. Harry's always been stubborn."  
  
Hermione made a face. "I just wish he wasn't so secretive. We are his friends."  
  
"Where is he anyway?"  
  
"You see? That's what I'm talking about! He just disappears without telling us where he's going or why!"  
  
"Harry's allowed a life. Maybe he's got a girlfriend."  
  
That perked Hermione's interest. "You think so?"  
  
"Well, you say he's disappearing, maybe he's visiting her. They could be having kinky sex in the dungeons and that's why he doesn't want to tell us."  
  
"Ew Ron!" Hermione gave him a disgusted look. She sighed. "I hope he does though, it's a nice, safe and normal secret."  
  
Ron blew the wood shavings away. He shrugged. "Hope they're using protection then."  
  
Hermione hit him with a cushion, a small smile on her face.  
  
Her eyes traveled to the apparently finished masterpiece.  
  
'They that dance must pay the fiddler'  
  
It made her shiver.  
  
"Ron, why did you write that?" She wondered why her voice shook.  
  
He shrugged again. "Mum said it once, I just thought of it." His expression changed to one of concern. "What's wrong?" He put an arm around her and she moved closer to him, trying to forget the words and their haunting quality.  
  
0-0  
  
Lord Voldemort contemplated his options. The boy's mind was complex, more difficult to map than any of his Death Eaters, besides Severus and perhaps Lucius.  
  
The child was clever, though maybe not so clever, he had surmised due to the revelation earlier in the day. It was safe to say while he excelled in some areas of life he tended to lack common sense in others. The plays he was making with his life as he mutilated his body were more dangerous than Potter seemed to realize. It was far too easy to slice a few important veins or arteries when in a fit of anger. Voldemort would know, having been a fan of torture for many years, even as an expert he had lapses in judgment. The victim was delivered from the suffering earlier than planned.  
  
Voldemort tapped the edge of the chair. This could rid him of the thorn in his side in a very efficient way, all he needed was to wait for the opportune moment to influence the boy. Dumbledore wouldn't be able to meddle this time. Voldemort laughed, startling the Death Eater about to enter. Dumbledore didn't have a clue.  
  
0-0  
  
Draco noticed Millicent had gone. Again. She'd been disappearing of late and Draco had suspicions of what that meant. The Dark Lord usually didn't let girls into his ranks so Millie could be getting into something much more dangerous. Theodore had also been leaving the dorms late at night, which meant one of two things, either he was creeping out to fuck a girlfriend or he'd become a Death Eater. Draco was hoping he was still in the initiation stage.  
  
Draco decided he had to do something otherwise his house and all of his friends would be on the losing side. Draco knew he was, as far as most of the school was concerned, the Prince of Slytherin. Even Snape used the reference every now and then, though he was a Death Eater Draco respected him as a Professor and Slytherin Head of House. And Draco planned on living up to his title and saving his house.  
  
A lot of the seventh years were lost, the Dark Lord took them young but he was surprised at how young the man was going. Sixth years were being recruited, Draco knew that for a fact as his father had hinted he would be invited into the circle within a few months. It was a date that would close in slowly until Draco could think of only a few ways to escape. So he was going to conquer his house. It couldn't be that hard. He was a Malfoy, after all.  
  
There was one thing Draco needed to know to begin his governing of Slytherin. How the Hogwarts Death Eaters were getting out of ground when summoned. That way he could keep track of who and how many. In any other house it may have been easy but Slytherins were secretive.  
  
Draco tried to think of the sure Death Eaters. He could rule out at least one of his friends at that moment. The Zabinis had been strictly neutral since the war began, it wasn't likely Blaise was going to run off to the Dark Lord. Then were the sure lost, Higgs, Bole and Warrington. Three seventh years. Montague could be saved, he thought, the most likely of the seventh year Death Eaters of being convinced to betray his Lord, not weak in mind but weak in passion for the cause. Montague just followed his father's orders because it was in his best interests to do so, it didn't bother him as he was chaotic neutral.  
  
He needed to categorize his Slytherins. Draco paused in his thoughts to consider how deeply he'd cement himself in this. His Slytherins. Draco shrugged, they were his house, he wanted to lead them to something that would get them somewhere.  
  
He pulled out some parchment and a quill from his bag and began to write up the list.  
  
He smirked to himself. Prince of Slytherin, indeed.  
  
0-0  
  
End of Chapter 3  
  
Ron's little sentence does end up meaning something, it's not completely random.  
  
Thanks: yeoldecrazy1, Dervla, im-a-daydream-believer, silver115, driven to insanity, GordoLuvr4life8988, FroBoy, TheSecretCharacter and Immortal Tears of.  
  
lighted eagle: Even he doesn't quite know why he's angry with them just yet (I'll elaborate soon). The next chapter will be long (I'm planning on it being so anyway). 


	4. Chapter Four

Bother - Chapter 4  
  
0-0  
  
"So you're saying your hatred for muggles is purely logical?" Harry asked incredulously.  
  
-Exactly.-  
  
"You're so lost." He laughed, annoying Tom.  
  
-What is so amusing?-  
  
Harry found it strange and increasingly discomforting that he could feel the man's emotions. He could hear the words in his mind, but actually feeling the emotion behind the words... it was different.  
  
Over the time he'd been getting to know Tom, the resentment for his life and for his treatment by muggles was obvious. The man felt begrudged of a childhood and those responsible were muggles. And though Harry would never admit it to anyone, he felt that maybe the hatred was justified, in a twisted way. Tom had been badly influenced as a child, Harry could sympathize, it had messed with Tom and eventually turned him into Voldemort.  
  
"The orphanage, was it bad?"  
  
There was a long silence.  
  
"Come on, Tom, was it bad?" He repeated.  
  
-Define bad.-  
  
"Did they beat you or rape you?" As soon as it came out of his mouth, Harry knew he didn't want to hear the answer, not really. Because when he did, and he already had a good idea of what it would be, he wasn't sure how he would feel. And it scared him.  
  
-I don't see how it is your business, Potter.- Harry could sense the anger that could be provoked with his next statement but couldn't help it.  
  
"You're just an abused, vengeful child, really." For a split second a sharp pain panged in his head. It quickly faded, only a dull throb behind his scar remained, reminding him of Tom was capable.  
  
-You have no idea what you speak of.-  
  
"No, I'd say I don't." Harry whispered. "But then who does? Not every traumatised kid goes out and becomes a Dark Lord. I'd say you're unique, Tom, does that make you happy?"  
  
-Happiness is an illusion.-  
  
"What are you, a muggle song?"  
  
-I should kill you.- For the first time in a while Tom sounded truly cold. Harry had to make an effort not to retort in anger.  
  
"Good things take time." He replied, not really knowing what message he meant to put across. He knew that with Tom's new found knowledge of him that the man would take it the way it sounded and Harry wasn't sure it mattered.  
  
The presence was cut away in an almost painful gesture, leaving Harry with a nasty headache. Had he hurt Tom? Harry reminded himself of the man's nature once more and wondered why he cared.  
  
0-0  
  
Harry use to think he understood people. Then he realized he'd been seeing the world in black and white. Tom had fixed that up quickly, teaching him there were not two polar extremes, just complex shades of gray.  
  
Then along came Malfoy. The short encounter, resulting in no rumors, had put Harry on edge. Either Malfoy believed he may be subject to blackmail or the boy genuinely didn't want to cause trouble for Harry. When Harry put more thought more about it he thought it was probably neither. No doubt Malfoy had an ulterior motive that Harry hadn't a clue of.  
  
Of course Dumbledore had been around all along but it wasn't until the summer holidays just passed that Harry saw how manipulative the old man was. It made him wonder what he meant to the Headmaster. Was he a tool? A weapon? A last resort? Harry couldn't deny that he blamed the old man for his godfather's death, anyone would know that after his temper tantrum in the Headmaster's office. After his fifth year Harry had vowed to try to control his temper.  
  
Harry thought he knew everything about his friends. He was wrong. As much as Harry didn't want to blame them for his confusion, they were a source of it. Someone looking in on their little group might have seen the possible consequence of being a trio. Two was company, three was a crowd. He felt like the third wheel whenever they went to Hogsmeade or to the Common Room, even. It was Ron and Hermione. Then there was Harry. And he hated it. He despised his friends for it. He loathed himself for it.  
  
He considered breaking away. Finding someone for himself.  
  
"If anyone would have me," He murmured softly, hardly realizing he'd spoken aloud.  
  
The cold, hard darkness in the tower reminded him of the time. It was late. He'd taken to wandering up to the Astronomy Tower past midnight, ever since the Christmas holidays, which had ended just a few days ago. Ron and Hermione had come back happier than ever. In turn, Harry was more miserable than ever. He wasn't sure if he'd rather them staying away, not rubbing their perfect lives into his whirlpool of an existence. Harry hated himself for thinking such a thought. But then, he hated himself anyway.  
  
"What the hell is wrong with me?" The question was a frustrated yell.  
  
"I'd say you're fucking crazy, Potter." Came the unexpected reply.  
  
Harry jumped, startled. "Malfoy!" He growled when the moonlight illuminated the other boy's face.  
  
"The one and only, kneel and worship." Malfoy smirked, casually leaning against the door.  
  
"Go away, Malfoy, find someone else to bother."  
  
The Slytherin ignored him and continued on his earlier tangent. "Bloody mad if you ask me. It's freezing."  
  
"I didn't ask you. I happen to like it, if you don't, no one's forcing you to stay." Harry gritted his teeth.  
  
"I'm wounded, Potter, truly wounded. I'd love to stay and discuss the extent of your dementia."  
  
"Just go away."  
  
"What, nothing to say?" Sarcasm from Malfoy was really an enlightening experience. Everything about the blond was made for it. Arrogance. Voice. Body... Harry almost smiled but caught himself.  
  
"Not to you."  
  
"What a fucking shame." Harry really was surprised by the language he'd heard from Malfoy in the few semi-proper conversations they'd been engaged in. He thought purebloods were all about manners and propriety.  
  
"Look, Malfoy, this is my place." He didn't know what inspired him to say it because it wasn't his place at all. It was the Astronomy Tower, open to all. Well, not this far after curfew, but the point being that Harry didn't own the tower. And Malfoy picked up on that quickly.  
  
"YOUR place? How pretentious of you." Harry half-agreed with the smirking boy.  
  
"Fine. Stay if you want to so much." Harry gave in. Malfoy was a thorn in his side but there wasn't much else he could do, he didn't want to leave, he wasn't ready to go back to the dorms yet.  
  
Much to Harry's surprise, Malfoy sat down without another word.  
  
There was a second of awkward silence. Harry sighed and pulled out a cigarette. He put it between his lips and lit it, all the while feeling the stare of Malfoy's stormy eyes.  
  
"What the fuck is that?" He finally asked.  
  
Harry inhaled deeply and let the smoke out, the tension visibly slipping out of his shoulders.  
  
"Cigarette. Tobacco. Nicotine."  
  
"How many vicious habits do you have, Potter?"  
  
"It's not an addiction, okay?" Harry snapped. It wasn't. It was just relaxation.  
  
Malfoy muttered something but he couldn't hear it and chose to ignore the comment, it would only bring unrest.  
  
The smokes were Dudley's, Harry had tried it out during the summer, he'd heard a lot about smoking. He needed something to help him relax, it was especially effective after a nightmare, and he'd been having a lot of those lately.  
  
"The whole school could know by morning." Malfoy spoke up. Harry knew he wasn't talking about the smoking.  
  
"Are you threatening me?" He asked coldly.  
  
"I'm warning you." The tone worried Harry, Malfoy was dead serious.  
  
"What do you want from me?"  
  
0-0  
  
Draco hadn't thought about that. He hadn't meant it that way. He supposed he just wanted to re-establish himself as... bigger? More dangerous?  
  
Malfoys didn't cry. Draco knew that. So he had to make sure that wasn't what happened on Thursday.  
  
"Nothing. Yet." The answer didn't sound as malicious as he wanted it to.  
  
Draco felt his face flush. He was glad it was so dark, Potter couldn't see his embarrassment.  
  
"I fucking hate staying at Hogwarts in the holidays." He blurted out. It was a fault of his, words flying out of his mouth when he felt humiliated. Instantly his face reddened further. Why did he have to say that to Potter?  
  
"Why do you then?" Thankfully, Potter didn't seem to find Draco's outburst unusual.  
  
"Father."  
  
There was a short pause. Potter turned to face him. "I can understand that." And Draco truly believed he could.  
  
Something occurred to him. "Your relatives..." He waited for Potter to finish the sentence.  
  
"My uncle slaps me around a bit, nothing extreme." Draco wondered what Potter considered extreme. "They don't like me around during the holidays."  
  
"You're the Boy-Who-Lived."  
  
"Ironic, isn't it?"  
  
Somehow it made Draco angry. "You're so fucking arrogant!" It was only Potter who could elicit these irrational explosions from him.  
  
Draco clenched his fist when Potter let out a soft laugh. "Pot calling the kettle black."  
  
Draco looked at him in confusion.  
  
"Look who's talking." Potter explained.  
  
"I don't mind being a hypocrite."  
  
"You Slytherins wouldn't."  
  
"It's my house."  
  
He felt like he had one up on Potter when the small teen stared at him bemusedly.  
  
"So?"  
  
"It's my house, not me."  
  
"And?"  
  
"You can't judge 80 odd students based on me."  
  
Potter shook his head. "You're acting weird, you know that?"  
  
"From what I think of you, you're acting like a bloody lunatic."  
  
The Boy-Who-Lived scowled and Draco smirked triumphantly.  
  
"I'll be fucking off then?" He'd successfully paid Potter back for making him embarrassed, his work was done there. The conversation had been jilted, slightly backward and strange, Draco would have a lot to think about later.  
  
"What's with you and the word 'fuck', Malfoy?" Potter shouted after him.  
  
"I fucking like it!" He shouted back, making his way down the stairs quickly. He left with a small smile on his face and didn't know why.  
  
0-0  
  
End of Chapter 4  
  
Thanks to: yeoldecrazy1, simsari, im-a-daydream-believer, curlytop.  
  
Next chapter: Draco's obsession with the word 'fuck', an explanation for something said in this chapter (vague, I know), Slytherin house and more! 


	5. Chapter Five

Sorry about the long wait. 

0-0

Chapter 5

0-0

Harry knew he'd been hiding things from people who would care to know. But that wouldn't be unusual. He didn't think Ron and Hermione had the time nor the patience to deal with whatever messed up issues he was stuck with. It was his problem to deal with not theirs.

Potions was Gryffindor and Slytherin. Harry was having one of his Bad Days. He needed to cut so strongly it hurt. Even Ron and Hermione had noticed. That embittered Harry, as much as he tried to squish the feeling down.

"Mr. Potter, as it is obvious you feel this class beneath you, you can be our volunteer."

Harry's attention snapped back to the classroom. His searched his memory but he couldn't remember what they were making at all.

"I would have you test your own," Snape looked down at his potion in disgust. "But I would rather not have your dead body in my possession."

I'm sure you would love that, Harry sneered in his mind. He wisely refrained from saying it aloud.

It is a kind of wound identifying potion. Given your recreational activities, you may want to avoid taking it.-

"Why don't we see how far your trust in Miss Granger's potion skills goes." It was a command rather than a question.

The greasy git glared down at Hermione. She nervously filled a vial and handed it back to Harry.

He stared down at the blue potion. He looked back up at the professor.

"Well, Mr. Potter?" A smirk on his face. Harry wondered if he knew anything of if he just thought Harry didn't think Hermione had made it properly.

Harry's eyes met Malfoy's. The blond didn't look smug like Harry thought he might. He looked... worried?

Then he saw Malfoy add something to his potion. He gestured something to Harry. Wait?

"Shit. Bugger. Fuck!" Malfoy scrambled away from his bubbling potion.

Snape whirled around. When he saw the cauldron he immediately Vanished it.

Harry slipped out silently. He would thank Malfoy later.

Perhaps the Malfoy boy will disappoint his father. It means nothing to me.-

Harry was relieved that Tom was indifferent. He may have hated Malfoy, but he wouldn't wish the boy dead. He hadn't thought of that before. Maybe I should warn everyone to stay away from me, he thought angrily, I have Voldemort in my head.

"I hate you." He muttered.

It's just a phase you're going through. It's called life.-

Harry scowled.

He dropped onto his bed. Ron and Hermione were going to go nuts.

0-0

"Snape is going to kill you!" Ron. Harry had been waiting for this.

"I can't believe you did that!" Hermione this time. She looked... hurt? Oh. She thought it was about the trust.

"I just didn't want to give him the satisfaction." He said dully, knowing it sounded fake.

"Harry, the whole point was that you wouldn't take it!" She was right. What else could he say?

"Oops." He shrugged.

"I think you've got detention for a month." She sat next to him on the bed.

"I can deal." He was just glad he didn't have to take the damn potion.

Coward.-

"Shut up." Harry growled.

Both Ron and Hermione stared at him in surprise.

"What?" Ron asked angrily.

"Not you." Harry was tired of excusing his remarks to Tom. But he just found it too... freaky... to talk to Tom in his head. Still, the concerned glances that attempted to gauge his sanity did nothing to dull his frustration.

0-0

"Thank you." Potter muttered.

Draco jumped in surprise. He didn't think Potter knew he was there. What was he meant to say? "I couldn't lose my blackmail material, could I?"

"I suppose not." There was simple nonchalance in Potter's voice and Draco cringed at the thought of Potter becoming completely immune to his insults.

Before he could think of an appropriate comeback Potter spoke again. "Have you thought about what I asked you?"

Draco jogged his memory.

"About swearing." The Gryffindor reminded him.

Draco gave him an incredulous look. He'd thought it was a bit of a rhetorical question. But he had thought about it, Draco remembered, still, he didn't admit that to Potter.

"I already told you. I fucking like it." He answered with a smirk.

Potter just rolled his eyes. "Why?"

Draco wanted to punch him. "Ever heard of liberation, Potter?"

The raven-haired boy gave him a sardonic look and gestured to his arms, exposed enough so that Draco could just barely see a scar on his right forearm. He wondered how far-reaching they were. When he had seen Potter in the bathroom, the bloody cuts had gone past his shoulder, beyond what was revealed.

"Why do you think I do this?"

Draco answered truthfully. "Because you're fucked in the head."

Potter seemed to consider the reply seriously. "That too." He agreed. "Far, far more than you know." The last bit was said so quietly that Draco had to lean forward to hear. He was curious as to what Potter was talking about. Some other deep, dark secret, probably.

"Not smoking then." He commented absently.

"I'm giving it up." Potter sounded strained and Draco reminded himself to look up the effects of cigarettes.

"Why?"

"Bad for my lungs and all that. Early death." Draco scoffed.

"I wouldn't say you were all that adverse to that." That seemed to strike a nerve in Potter as the boy growled.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy." Draco raised an eyebrow.

"So you aren't going to roll out that window any second now?"

"There are wards." Draco would have laughed if it was not Potter in front of him.

"You would know." He muttered, amused.

"Hogwarts, A History." The raven-haired boy said tiredly.

Draco looked at him in surprise. "You've actually read that?"

"Hermione."

Granger. Draco laughed to himself. Walking library. Mudblood. He sighed. Considering the girl was first in their year, he was being to doubt that blood mattered.

"How's the Death Eater thing going then?" Draco jumped. He would deny it later but he did. There was no way Potter could know, no way.

"Er... what?"

He could've sworn Potter rolled his eyes. Draco scowled.

"Are you going to be a good little minion or not?" Draco was a little surprised to hear Potter sounded genuinely interested. But then, he would. Boy-Who-Lived and all that.

He pondered his answer for a while and settled on the safest reply. "Dunno yet."

Potter had the audacity to laugh. "Draco Malfoy, not knowing something? The horror!"

"Get the fuck off it, Potter." He retorted with something that might have been a smile.

"You still haven't told me why you swear like you do." And there was a sadness in Potter's voice and Draco wondered if it was because the boy already knew.

"I did. Liberation." He answered shortly, really not wanting to get into it.

"From what?" Potter persisted.

Draco took a huge breath and thought about leaving. Of course, that's as far as it would go. Draco wouldn't leave. He couldn't. There was something about Potter... something about himself...

"My father. What else?"

"Why?" Draco choked a bit and hid it hastily. Potter had to pry.

Lucius. It always was Lucius. Draco loved him, sure, he loved him like a son loves his father. But Lucius had never been likable. The man was domineering and power-hungry, not to mention set in his ways. When he said jump, Draco said 'how high?' It was the way it was. And Draco admired Lucius for his power and he hated him for his cowardice.

Ever since Draco could remember his father had controlled him. Who he talked to, how he spoke, what he played with, who he was friends with, who he hated. Even from Azkaban the man still had all the aplomb required to run his son's life. Since Draco was a small child, Lucius had demanded Draco's obedience. Draco was beginning to wonder if it was his own life at all.

He answered with a small sorrowful smile that Potter couldn't see. "Normal teenage rebellion."

0-0

There was something about Malfoy. Something he'd never seen before. It was so easy to talk to the Slytherin, he felt like he could say anything and escape judgment, never mind the fact that it was Draco Malfoy, his enemy since he'd begun at Hogwarts. Of course, they did talk in the dark, but Harry got the feeling it would be the same in the light.

"Normal teenage rebellion." Malfoy finally replied and Harry didn't miss the strangled tone. He ignored it, preferring not to slaughter the other boy's pride and dignity by accident.

"Did you know that a dragonfly has a lifespan of 24 hours?" He'd always found that fascinating. Just 24 hours to do what? Eat insects? If he had only 24 hours to live... it just didn't seem worth it.

"No. Does it matter?" Malfoy didn't sound angry, just uninterested.

"What would you do if you had 24 hours to live?" He asked, curious as to how the Slytherin would treat the question.

There was a long silence. "Have sex, I suppose."

"Don't want to die a virgin?" Harry sympathized.

"Who says I'm a virgin?" Malfoy sneered.

"I would tell Snape to go to hell." He supposed he would do that even if he wasn't about to die.

"I would tell Fudge he was a fucking fool." The Slytherin joined in the game and Harry smiled to himself.

"I would ask someone out." Harry thought that after Cho he would never be able to work up the nerve.

"And fuck them afterwards." Malfoy added.

"If it turned out that way." Harry shrugged. "You're really vulgar." He shook his head. He truly hadn't expected that from Malfoy. The blond swore more than any other person he knew.

"It's how I am."

Harry stared at him. "Well, you're a real prat usually, but now you're not so bad."

"Like you're so great, Potter."

"Arrogant, cocky, foolish, I've heard it all before." From Snape mostly. And worthless, useless and a freak, according to his uncle, but he didn't say that to Malfoy.

"Then we're even." Harry had a feeling Malfoy honestly didn't want to fight. Not here anyway. He agreed. It didn't seem right.

Harry found he could talk to Malfoy. Talk more freely than he could ever talk to anyone else. Twice they had sat in this exact same place and Harry had let more off his chest than he could imagine. And it was comforting to know there was a human in his rival. Of course, it may have been the fact that Malfoy was his enemy that made him so easy to talk to... it didn't matter.

But there was one thing he couldn't tell the other boy. He couldn't tell him about Tom. It would be too dangerous. From small comments Malfoy had made he thought that maybe the Slytherin was building up some sort of rebellion in his house. Perhaps a passive one, but a revolt nonetheless. Harry had no doubt that if Malfoy was doing that, having Tom find out would be a very, very bad move. The man always seemed to have a way of knowing when Harry was thinking about him.

0-0

Not for the first time, while he cut himself, he wondered why he had to do it. Harry knew this was the only way he could keep waking up in the morning. Not that he had any trouble waking up. It was staying asleep that was the problem. Harry hadn't slept properly in weeks. Months, even. He was thinking of stealing some dreamless sleep from Snape's stores, but wasn't up to being discovered. He had enough detentions this week.

Cutting calmed his nerves a little. After running out of smokes he'd been jittery. He was quitting, or so he told himself to avoid the out of control feeling. He'd have to wait until the summer to get more. The thought made him scowl.

He cut again.

0-0


	6. Chapter Six

**A/N: So sorry for the huge delay. Had a busy year. Hope this is okay, not really polished.**

**Chapter Six **

Sometimes he was tempted to just let himself bleed out. All the troubles, all the pain, all his suffering, just let it all go, damn the consequences. No more Tom. No more Dumbledore. No more Snape. No more Ron and Hermione. No more fucking prophecy.

He let thoughts of the prophecy slip from his mind. Shouldn't let Tom get a hold of that. Or maybe he should. Just get it all over with. Stop hiding, stop digging holes to bury his head. There was nothing he wouldn't give to live a normal life, one without all the mess attached to his.

"Potter, you really need to find a more private and sanitary place to do stuff like this."

Harry slowly turned his head to face the blond. He looked a little pale, Harry noted.

"You really need to stop butting in." He replied, pulling his sleeve down and dropping the knife onto the sill.

Draco settled down against the wall, eyes staring straight through him.

Harry looked away, uncomfortable. "I wasn't finished." He said quietly.

"Yeah, I'll just fucking leave so you can get back to slicing your fucking arm up. You've got a lot of nerve, Potter." Malfoy sneered.

"We're not exactly friends Malfoy, so I don't see why you can't."

Harry gazed down at the ground below the tower, purposefully wondering how far down it was, like he always did. It was like a game. The more he stared, the more he dared himself to do it, to just throw himself off the edge. He kept thinking - not yet, just a little further.

"You know, you have the emotional capacity of an insect."

Harry was startled into glancing at the other boy. "Was that meant to be insulting?"

"Come on, Potter, you can't deal with other people actually caring whether you live or die. It's like you're missing something."

Harry didn't know whether to be highly offended or just confused. "You've really known me for all of, what, two seconds? What makes you think you know me at all?"

But Malfoy didn't reply. His cold eyes were puzzled and fixed on his arms. "What the fuck?"

He stood and advanced on Harry. "Your sleeves are soaked through."

Malfoy grabbed his wrist painfully hard. Harry hissed and tried to jerk his arm out of the Slytherin's grasp.

"Merlin," Malfoy breathed out as he saw the torn flesh. "Potter, this is really bad. Really fucking bad."

Harry examined the wreckage himself. Very bloody, a bit deeper than usual perhaps. He fingered a cut tenderly. Quite a bit deeper. "Not that bad," He told Malfoy. "It'll be fine."

"Just let me wrap your forearms."

"I'll be fine."

Malfoy glared at him.

"God, you're so infuriating." Harry huffed, embarrassed and exhausted.

Harry let Malfoy conjure bandages, humoring him for now. There was no way he was actually going to walk around looking like he'd failed to off himself. He'd do it right the first time, after all.

Malfoy's fingers were gently holding his arms and Harry felt something tingle. He almost... liked it? That couldn't be right. Malfoy did have nice hands, he supposed. And nice wrists. And nice arms. Come to think of it... no, he definitely wouldn't think of it. Never. Not even if Draco was the last person on earth.

"You have really pretty eyes..." Was that him? What was he saying? He didn't think that. Definitely not.

Draco looked up at him, startled. "Are you serious?" Suddenly, his expression turned grave.

"How much blood have you lost, Potter?"

Harry just stared dumbly at him before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped back. For a brief moment Draco thought he'd died or something before he saw the Gryffindor's chest rising slowly.

"Oh, you bloody idiot, what am I supposed to do now? Fuck." Draco rubbed his temples frantically. "Do you want to go to the Infirmary? No? What the fuck...! I can't believe I have to deal with this, Potter."

Just that one time, he'd told himself when he talked to Potter in the Astronomy tower. Just that one time, and it would never happen again. But then it was just one more time, and another after that wouldn't hurt, after all, it wasn't as if Potter held any sort of power over him. Merlin, he was an idiot, Draco mentally kicked himself.

But now he was in a situation and the bandages were already soaked through and Draco wasn't exactly in his right mind and for once he really didn't know what to do.

"Okay, here's what's going to happen... you... are going to come with me..." But where, he really didn't know. He should just take the other boy to Pomfrey and leave him there but to hell with him if he actually cared about Potter's feelings.

Just as he had Potter's arm hooked around his shoulder, he had the most opportunely timed brainwave.

Dragging Harry all the way to the Room of Requirement was beyond his call of duty, Draco grumbled to himself as he reached the door. Thinking quite hard about rest, he opened the door and pulled Harry through.

His triumphant expression fell when he saw the bed though. The double bed.

"Oh fucking hell, give me a break for once!" Draco briefly considered throwing a grand fit. He was tired. It was way past midnight. Harry Potter was leaning all his weight on him and most probably bleeding to a disgusting and inconvenient death. It was one of those nights.

"Fine. Fine. Fine. I can live with this." He shook Harry a few times.

The brunette was completely unresponsive and Draco's heart skipped a couple of beats while fumbling to check the other boy's pulse. He almost fainted himself from sheer relief as he felt the steady beats.

"I'll wake you up later on to check on you," He told the limp Potter. "If you die, I'll... I don't fucking know, I'll leave you here to rot."

Draco, still feeling very unsettled, leaned back in the armchair near the bed. If there was one thing he wasn't going to do, even to avoid the awful neck cramps he'd have in the morning, it was sleep in the same bed as Potter.

He cursed the Room of Requirement and Harry Potter in as many ways as he could imagine until he finally dozed off early in the morning.

"Malfoy?"

Draco's eyes fluttered open. He stared into large green eyes.

"Wha...?" He slurred, scooting back in his chair.

"You'd better get up now or you'll be in trouble. I'm going to go now." Harry backed away from him.

Draco sat up suddenly, wincing at the pain in his neck and back. "Fuck, Potter, you were falling all over me last night and now it's just 'I'm going now, stuff you and goodbye'?"

Potter raised an eyebrow. "Did you want me to blow you or something?"

There was complete silence for a long moment.

"Don't ever say that." He finally said.

What was Potter thinking? Blow him? What did the Gryffindor think he was? Where did Potter get that idea? He wasn't gay. No way.

"I thought you were dying for fucks sake!" Draco stood and shoved his face into Potter's. Besides, even if Potter wasn't dying, Draco was pretty sure fainting from blood loss wasn't a good sign.

"Not my fault you're stupid." Potter shrugged annoyingly.

Draco felt like he would explode. How dare Potter talk to him like that? Not to mention that Draco did actually feel really stupid, and somewhere, deep enough inside for him to almost be able to ignore, he felt a little betrayed. It was perhaps the first time he'd let himself be personally concerned for someone who wasn't himself. Potter's attitude proved he was right in not caring. The world was full of bastards.

"Fuck off, Potter. Just fuck off." He muttered bitterly.

He glanced up briefly and thought he might have caught regret in Potter's eyes, but he couldn't find the energy to give a damn.


	7. Chapter Seven

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

**Chapter 7**

_So, Potter, killed yourself yet?_

Harry choked out a surprised laugh. "Tom, haven't heard from you in a while, been busy?"

_Particularly. You have surely seen it in the Daily Prophet. They are quite gleeful about the amount of news I create for them._

Tom was right, the Prophet had nearly been gloating at its full pages, reporting deaths all around England and Northern Ireland. The reports sometimes even branched to the south of Ireland, something which came as a shock to number of people. France was especially up in arms about it, fearing Voldemort's international debut.

_Come now Harry, they were just filthy muggles. Not unlike that revolting uncle of yours._

"Bones' sister was killed." Harry replied bitterly. He remembered the owl flying in during mail one morning. He'd received a letter from Professor Lupin, he recalled his surprise and happiness at the missive. Then the wail, the gut-wrenching cry from Hufflepuff table. All the houses, including Slytherin, were deathly silent as the other Hufflepuff fifth years comforted their distressed comrade. Harry could still hear Hannah's soft words to her friend as they walked past his table, his eyes firmly on his plate, just like everyone else. No one wanted to see or know. No one wanted to acknowledge the beginning of Voldemort's terror.

_Minor deviation. She was in the way. _

Harry did not answer. It wasn't the first time he'd found himself disgusted that such a horrible being was practically in his head. He wondered if perhaps Tom was rubbing off on him. If, one day, Harry would become just another twisted old man trying to exact revenge, hoping to regain something he had lost long ago.

_Your loss, Potter. Watch that razor of yours, wouldn't want it to slip now, would we?_

"Fuck off." He growled, stealing Malfoy's phrase. Tom's presence diminished as Harry's memories of the incident resurfaced.

How could he have been so stupid, so foolish? To let Malfoy see him in such a state. To let himself get in such a state, even. He had been rash and that was his punishment, Harry supposed. He should never have let himself get too heavy-handed with the blade, it was one thing to think about letting himself go and quite another to actually do it. No self control… It made him shiver to think of what might have happened. Harry didn't think he was ready, but then when was he ever?

Harry sighed and stood up off the step. It was windy outside and it might start to rain. It was advisable to prevent any trips to Madame Pomfrey, considering his interesting habits. He turned and faced the entrance to Hogwarts and took a calming breath before reentering.

"Harry!" Ron called out, catching his attention just before he reached the Great Hall. "Snape's just given you a detention for not turning up for class. That's the fourth one this week, Harry!"

"Who are you, Hermione?" Ron looked a bit offended so Harry quickly continued. "I just didn't feel like dealing with Snape."

"I guess. Hermione will still bite your ear off about it though, like all the other times."

"And I'll let her." Harry sighed, exasperated. Why did people always have to be on his back?

Thankfully, Ron was silent.

"I'm going to the library." Harry announced.

"But you're almost at the-"

Harry waved dismissively (wondering if perhaps he was acting a bit like Malfoy but too tired -_too exhausted_- to care). He didn't want to face a crowd. Didn't want to stuff food into his mouth like he was actually hungry.

"I have homework." He lied. Homework was the least of his worries. He flew through scrolls now, easier than ever before, like being so messed up inside had really sorted a few things out academically. Homework and studying had become a distraction, something to bring his mind away from the sick ache that plagued him always. A catharsis, poring desperately over book after book, writing essays that were far too long, that revealed he had worked far too much. There were too many hours in a day, he couldn't remember how he'd ever felt rushed, not now that insomnia cleared up so much time. Time that was frantically filled in with finishing his assignments to an excessive standard, brooding in the Astronomy Tower and cutting. Avoiding the tower because of Malfoy had spared up even more of his time now, but Harry thought that was probably a good thing, being alone up there just made him sink into his own misery.

Ron gave in, like he had every other mealtime. Harry thought his friend was finally beginning to realise that he was slipping away and there was nothing Ron could do but watch. A small part of him, the cruel part, thought that it was funny. No one had noticed enough to pull him back before, now that they finally were beginning to, he was too far gone.

"I'll see you in Transfiguration. If you're not there Hermione will have a fit." Ron warned him.

"Whatever."

(-)

The library was always quiet at lunch. Not even Hermione could spend all of a meal there. A few Ravenclaws were minding their own business at their tables. Harry wondered if they held as much distaste for the Great Hall as he did or whether they just wanted to study. He had lost count of the mealtimes he had spent in the library, an amount that only increased following the Malfoy incident.

Harry made his way to the very back of the library, wanting to avoid anyone like Malfoy, or even his friends, from catching sight of him. He was definitely not in any kind of mood to talk to his mates, much less the Slytherin who was currently the thorn in his side. He'd had to abandon the Astronomy Tower, especially as a place to cut. There was something vaguely disturbing about having Malfoy watch him, and especially in the _way_ Malfoy watched him. A little bit curious, a little bit disgusted, and a little of something foreign to Harry…

Harry let out a frustrated groan. He didn't want to deal with something else on top of all the things weighing him down. His arms ached furiously, a burning reminder of his existence. Harry was a bit concerned about his left forearm, he thought perhaps he needed stitches, all he knew was that it would scar badly and the thought made him a bit happier. He had cut more than ever this month, the Prophet and his nightmares making him need it more sorely, like an aching feeling of _want _that wouldn't leave.

So he had scored into his arms like there would be no tomorrow. After each time he felt more light-headed and dizzy then he usually did. Must have been the blood loss. The gaps between needing to cut were becoming shorter and shorter, and the cutting was deeper and more frenzied. It had started with being looked after (how the words made him cringe) by Malfoy and had steadily gotten worse since. His body burned furiously, his chest, wrought with new cuts, his upper arms and forearms, and, more recently, his legs.

The permanent ache was satisfying, a constant distraction, one that could remain with him, even when he floated away on a cloud in Transfiguration. It was all too easy now, too simple. He'd read ahead, seeking further distraction, immersed in the difficulty of the subject. Harry had certainly eliminated that aspect of things, reading almost relentlessly and practicing behind charmed bed curtains . When he had to retreat to bed, that was. Filch had lately become aware that a phantom, one who was not any of the local ghosts, was haunting the halls of Hogwarts. This heightened awareness had forced Harry out of his usual night time nooks and crannies and back into the stifling dorm room.

He lazily contemplated not going to class. It was easier and easier to just skip, instead using the time to do something more productive. It had become clear that the professors were confused. Harry had begun skipping class regularly, but his grades had risen dramatically. A distressed and worried Hermione relayed his assignments to him, projects he threw himself into with all the enthusiasm he didn't have in other areas of life. Each one was handed in on time and achieved a high grade. They really didn't know whether to complain or not. He'd been sent to Dumbledore no less than five times. Each time had ended with Dumbledore knowing no more than he already knew and Harry once again needing his blade urgently. The man was careful, cautious even, following Sirius' death and the prophecy and seemed to be walking on eggshells around him. Harry rather thought the Headmaster didn't dare tell him off for skipping class for fear of alienating him further.

He had exactly five minutes to get to Transfiguration. No, he decided, it wasn't worth the time. They were doing small animate objects to larger inanimate objects today. Harry had mastered that the week before last. It would be pointless to go to a lesson he'd already learned.

(-)

Draco Malfoy was having a hard time. The Slytherins were like snakes. Slippery, clever and nasty. Even the younger years were defensive and suspicious. Malcolm Baddock kept threatening him, the spiteful little bastard. One or two inquiries and Draco was instantly an enemy. After only five weeks he could tell that leading the Slytherins would be harder than it looked. None of them talked, loose tongues were of precious few in that godforsaken house. For the first time in his six years at Hogwarts, Draco cursed Slytherin. In Gryffindor this would have been a piece of cake. There would be leaks all around. Here, everyone kept their mouths shut and their heads down. It was positively infuriating.

Last week was his first real breakthrough, if he could call it that. He'd discovered where Nott was disappearing off to. He'd stumbled across it really. On patrol as a Prefect, he was obliged to check all the popular snogging spots and clear them out. It was quite revolting, catching couples trying to suck each other's lungs out through their mouths. But last Tuesday things had been different. Very different.

Draco caught sight of movement in the shadows whilst patrolling the fourth floor corridors. He was about step in and break up what he knew had to be a snogging session, when he heard them speak.

"Lower, Theo." He froze in his step. What? That was a distinctly male voice. Draco gaped at the couple.

A moan. Draco flushed heavily as he realised exactly what he was seeing.

"More." A gasp. He backed up until his back brushed the cold stone wall, breathing faster than normal. It was then he felt it. Merlin. He had an erection.

There was a moment of confusion before he heard another moan. It was then he had what could only be called a complete breakdown. He ran. His footsteps were loud, at least in his own ears, and they echoed mockingly in the quiet castle. He ran until he reached the entrance to the Common Room and, once he'd gasped out the password, he ran up to the dormitory. Throwing himself onto the bed, he charmed the curtains to silence.

Draco caught his breath, grasping his ribs tenderly. He took a cautious look down. Yes, it was still there. He closed his eyes tightly before looking again, as if it would disappear. But it didn't. He was aroused by a couple snogging and groping. Two boys snogging and groping. Draco's breath caught painfully. He wasn't. Not him, Draco Malfoy. Malfoys weren't like that. Ever. But the evidence said otherwise. Could he really be gay?

(-)

It was the second week after Christmas that the rivals met again. Draco had left a Transfiguration essay until the last minute and had abandoned his dinner to write it in the library. He had the class first thing the next day and he was painfully behind in the subject. He'd had… personal issues… to deal with. Draco knew, however, that he couldn't let his grades drop, otherwise there would be hell to pay with his father.

The library was close to empty. Everyone else was likely stuffing their faces with the roast chicken that Draco had smelt on the way past the Great Hall. Searching for a table near the section he needed, he stumbled across someone he hadn't caught sight of in weeks. Harry Potter. The hair was unmistakable but his face had certainly become more gaunt.

"Potter," He announced his presence. "Long time, no see."

The other boy looked startled at his introduction, almost leaping completely out of his seat. "Oh." He muttered. "You."

Draco smirked. "You're looking sickly. Skipping meals really doesn't agree with you. And no doubt your other _activities_ don't agree with you either."

He was surprised by the response. "That's probably true." Potter admitted. "You're not looking so great either, Malfoy, Daddy giving you trouble?"

"Hardly." Draco scoffed before he could stop himself. He shut his mouth before he could say something stupid.

"Is it really necessary for you to bother me?" Potter asked, sounding exhausted. For a second, Draco felt a bit concerned. It was then he took a chance.

"Actually, yes. I have an essay to write and I'm so behind in Transfiguration that I don't even know where to start," He confessed sheepishly. "I'm not going to pretend I haven't heard the rumours. You've been stunning the teachers with your sudden genius, I thought you could put it to good use."

Potter stared at him for a minute with those striking green eyes before they flickered elsewhere. "And by good use, you mean helping you?"

Draco's mouth opened then closed again. There really wasn't any comeback to that, so he diplomatically said nothing.

"Sit down." Potter ordered.

For the next two hours Harry Potter helped Draco Malfoy finish his homework. If Dumbledore had seen them he would have been proud. When the last word was written they both leaned back, relieved.

"I hate to say it Potter, but thanks, you just saved my arse from the fire."

"You could have written it yourself, it's not that hard." Potter had the cheek to point out.

"To be honest, I don't think I could have. I've been distracted lately." He thought he must be on a roll, more truth in three hours than he'd spouted in almost a year.

"So have I," Potter said. "And it didn't stop me from keeping up."

Draco examined the tired boy. "And yet somehow I don't think I'd want to be you." Draco gave him a pointed look.

Potter took the implication with a red face and fisted hands. Draco grabbed one of those hands. His fingers snaked up to the sleeve and pushed it up. He dropped it like a hot potato as soon as he saw the revealed skin. "Fucking hell." He choked out. His shocked gray eyes met Potter's fiery ones.

"Don't touch me." Potter snapped, eyes darting around the large room to check for interlopers on their conversation.

"No one's looking, no one's listening." Draco reassured the paranoid Gryffindor. "But it's pretty obvious that they should be. That's disgusting, did you know that Potter? Did you see how deep those cuts were? You must know, you did them!"

"I'm not stupid, am I?" Potter said sarcastically.

"You'd have to be, to do that." He pointed out, eyes fixated once more on the now covered arm. "Doesn't it hurt?" He asked, curiosity overriding revolt.

He saw Potter's death grip on said arm and winced. "That is the idea." Again with the sarcasm.

"Doesn't it hurt enough to stop, I mean." Draco clarified.

"It doesn't." The haunted expression on Potter's face made Draco shiver. He could hear Potter take a deep shuddering breath. "I don't think it ever can stop what I want it to. I try so hard but it can't get rid of that sick rising feeling anymore. Like bees in your stomach swarming up to your head, knowing you're crazy, knowing you're not good enough, knowing-" Harry seemed to notice Draco's half-horrified half-fascinated stare and his face shuttered. "I'm sorry, why am I even telling you this? Go find someone else to torment, Malfoy, you couldn't even begin to understand." He fled the library in a flurry of activity, a thunderstorm that left Draco bewildered and alarmed.


	8. Chapter Eight

A/N: Reviews would be greatly appreciated.

**Chapter 8**

To be perfectly honest, Ron wasn't sure what to think. Usually if he was confused about something he would ask Harry, and if Harry didn't know, he'd ask Hermione. But Harry was hardly speaking to him (and besides, he was the part of the confusion anyway) and Hermione was just as lost as he was. Ron had seen Harry in the library, never unoccupied, eyes not glazed over like they use to when Ron and Harry studied with Hermione. Instead, his hand moved ridiculously fast, making notes from books with titles Ron could hardly pronounce. He thought that Harry was probably at least a year ahead in most of the classes, if not more.

"Finished yet?" Dean asked him, referring to the Potions essay in front of him, only one line written. It was a poor start too, Ron thought woefully, even he noticed the spelling mistakes.

"Not yet." He sighed. It was hard to concentrate when your best friend was becoming a ghost. Not to mention his odd dreams. Ron wasn't Harry, he didn't have wicked nightmares every night, so when the dreams began, he didn't know what to think. Sometimes they were of silly things, like a couple having dinner, or a girl playing on a swing. An argument maybe, a confession. Witches and wizards. Muggles. It was two weeks after they began that Ron realised there was something wrong. He dreamt of muggles in - what were they called? - moving pictures. Big rooms with lots of seats. Of children playing muggle games he couldn't possibly know of. It was inexplicable and concerning.

But still, it wasn't until one day in Transfiguration, about three weeks after Harry stopped turning up to class, that he truly realised something was wrong with him. One minute he was listening to the drone of McGonagall the next he was running.

_The wind whipped around her dress, striking her like a belt. Her fear bubbled up her throat and choked her, bile rising as she ran desperately through the park. The moon lit her path, stones and branches threatening to trip her, each step accentuated by the sound of crackling leaves. The footsteps behind her increased in tempo and she sobbed, stumbling._

_A bruising hand gripped her arm, dragging her back against a body. She jerked the other hand out from between them, scratching, slapping any part of his body she could reach. He fondled her chest roughly and she cried out, hoping someone could hear her. Her only reply was silence. _

"Ron?" He shuddered. He had to blink twice to focus on Hermione's face.

"Mr. Weasley, do you need to go to the hospital wing?" McGonagall's voice hardly broke through his stunned mist.

"I'll take him, Professor." Hermione offered, taking his arm. Ron shook his head, trying to clear the mist.

Madam Pomfrey gave him a Calming Drought, and seemed particularly worried about how unresponsive and pale he was. Hermione assured the woman that she would keep a good eye on her boyfriend and that she would bring him back at any sign of disturbance.

(-)

Harry grudgingly accepted the fact that Malfoy seemed determined to watch his every move. Even when he was trying to avoid the other boy, he caught flashes of platinum blond out of the corner of his eye. Whatever mission the Slytherin was on, Harry would let him play the silly game. He even blindsided Malfoy every now and then to offer his help with Transfiguration. Malfoy seemed to have a good grasp on his spell work, he just wouldn't concentrate long enough to absorb any information. It was annoying and required an excessive amount of patience on Harry's part, but it was a distraction nonetheless.

Harry caught up with Hermione when she was heading back to the Common Room with Ron. The redhead looked sickly and Harry suddenly realised that Ron could have looked that way for quite sometime and he still wouldn't have noticed until just then. The guilt crept up on him, part of his mind saying 'I told you so,' a part that was probably Tom.

"Here's that assignment for McGonagall." He handed it to Hermione. "What's wrong?" He asked Ron.

Ron just shook his head and Harry turned to the fuzzy-haired girl, eyes questioning. Hermione shrugged. "He won't say."

He accompanied the two to the Common Room. They took Ron up to the dorms and put him to bed, treating him like a doll most of the way. Harry's worry increased exponentially when Ron just rolled over to face the wall, his breathing heavy.

"What happened to him?" He asked Hermione when they were out of hearing distance next to the fireplace. The colours assaulted his senses, having been changed back to the panicked red of old. He swallowed uncomfortably. It definitely wasn't calming décor.

"Nothing, one second he was fine, the next he was spaced out. He just stared at nothing for ages. By the time I shook him out of it the entire class was watching him." Her voice rose slowly until Harry had to shush her due to prying eyes. Classes had let out about five minutes ago and the Common Room was filling with Gryffindors. "This will be all around the school by tomorrow. Ron's going to hate it."

"I know." Harry murmured. He could understand the feeling. "The Slytherins are going to have a field day."

"Especially Malfoy." Hermione said, her face falling at the thought.

"I don't know." Harry replied, pensive. He couldn't tell if Malfoy had changed or he had. A lot of both, he concluded. Malfoy had grown up and Harry had just ended up in a downward spiral. The combination was potentially dangerous, it could just result in the two of them becoming, Merlin forbid, friends. And somehow, in a slightly disturbing way, that didn't bother him as much as it should have.

"Well, I'm really worried about Ron. He's been acting strangely for a while now." Harry could sense the unsaid 'just like you.'

_Two Gryffindors unbundling like tightly coiled wires. Where will you both end up? _Tom was mocking. Either in a very bad mood or a very good one. Harry ignored the voice, choosing instead to focus on Hermione.

"Strange how?" Harry asked, hating himself for having to ask.

"He just talks less, smiles less, he's always somewhere else. He can't concentrate on anything. He doesn't eat as much." That pretty much summed it up. If Ron wasn't eating enough food for five teenaged boys, something was very wrong.

"Have you asked him about it?"

"He just says it's nothing to worry about. But if there's an 'it' then there's definitely something bothering him." Hermione looked resigned. Harry felt guilty again, he was making things hard on his friends, not being there for them.

_Exactly what are you going to do with that guilt, Potter? Make things harder on them, that's what. Go off and play your bloody little game. Escalate the problem, that will help. _A good mood, Harry thought bitterly. The bastard was in high spirits. The paper would be glowing tomorrow.

"I have to go to Potions. Are you coming?" Harry could hear her hesitation in the question. There was once a time where it would not be an inquiry, but a certainty. That time seemed too long ago.

"Yeah, I might come." He said. He could use a little more instruction, if that was what one could call Snape's teaching.

"Good." The relief was almost tangible and Harry couldn't meet her eyes. They were too intense, too caring. It was something he hadn't realised until that very second, Hermione cared about him, more than he did himself. He loved Hermione with all his heart at that moment.

They fetched their textbooks, checking on Ron on the way out. She slipped her arm through his and cast a beaming smile his way. He couldn't help but send a small smile back. He'd missed this. Having friends.

(-)

"Three times counter clockwise, not five times clockwise. How many times do I have to repeat the instructions before they penetrate your brain? Can you read, Mr. Longbottom?" The scathing tones of Professor Snape filled his ears. The sound was familiar to Harry. He'd had that voice directed at him one too many times in the past. But Snape hardly spoke to Harry anymore, Harry got the feeling he made the professor uncomfortable. His work had improved so dramatically and he worked so mechanically that his potions were pretty much flawless. The ingredients were always chopped in perfect measurements and diced in identical little squares. The consistency of his potions was always just right, the colour on target. It took concentration, Harry had realised, it took hard work and attention. An ideal distraction.

It was a double lesson with Slytherins. Sideways glances from Malfoy ensured that in between stirring and chopping he had alternate distractions. The Slytherin's constant nervous glances were disquieting. Harry wondered what exactly Malfoy's intentions were concerning him. There was no logical reason besides sabotage and Malfoy had enough blackmail material to last him a lifetime, if he'd wanted to ruin Harry he could have done it long ago.

Harry decided he would address Malfoy about the matter after class. He was sick and tired of his shadow. It set him on the edge to feel eyes watching him all the time. It was more than enough to have someone in his mind. There really was only enough room in there for one.

_Actually it seems quite empty to me. _

Harry concentrated a little harder and crushed his beetles, grip so tight his knuckles were white. The worst time to hear from Tom was during class. Harry didn't like speaking to Tom in his head, made him feel too crazy. The logic didn't quite work, after all talking to yourself aloud wasn't exactly sane either. But Harry had to draw the line somewhere.

_I wouldn't say you were certifiably sane. But then sane is only opinion. _

It worried him that he could force Tom's presence away less often now. Harry had grown used to ignoring it instead, shunting the intruder to the back of his mind. Only that didn't mean Tom disappeared. He just stayed dormant. Hiding away, rummaging through his thoughts and memories. Tom was the one in control and that was something that terrified Harry.

"Harry?" Hermione's timid voice saved the beetles from becoming dust. "You had better add those quick and put the potion into vials, class is finished."

Harry looked around. Everyone else appeared to have finished and were packing up their things. He hastily added the final ingredient and bottled the potion. He wanted to catch Malfoy on the way out.

"I've got to go get something from the dorms, I'll see you at lunch." Well, he might make it to lunch, that relief appeared again in Hermione's face at the suggestion. Harry winced inwardly, he promised himself he would make it to lunch no matter what.

He headed to intercept Malfoy as soon as Hermione turned around. The Slytherin's two escorts were strangely absent. Somehow the lack of physical threat surrounding Malfoy made the other boy seem a lot more approachable.

Malfoy noticed Harry walking beside him immediately and halted, raising an eyebrow in question. "I'll have you know I'm relatively up to date in Transfiguration." There was a greeting in there somewhere, Harry was sure.

"You've been stalking me."

"What makes you think that?" Malfoy was infuriating, beating around the proverbial bush. Harry fumed at the deliberate avoidance.

"You're everywhere I go, Malfoy, you can hardly deny it. And you watch me. All the time. I can practically feel your eyes burning holes in my back." He spat out the last bit between gritted teeth, staring Malfoy down. The grey eyes were smoky, smug and so self-assured.

"Last I heard there's no rules against watching you. Besides we go to the same school, Hogwarts is small, of course I'm everywhere you go." The smirk was there, knowing that he was right, and knowing just as well that Harry was right too.

"Look, it's not the same. I know why you're watching me and it needs to stop."

"You know why?" Malfoy's incredulous tones made him shift uncomfortably. "I seriously doubt that." Harry got the feeling he was out of some kind of loop.

"Whatever, just tell me what you want from me."

(-)

That sounded familiar. Draco thought back to when they had both sat in the Astronomy tower. The morbid fascination that had drawn him to Potter's activities in the first place. The strange empathy that had led him to come back. And now the odd sensation in his stomach at the thought of the Gryffindor boy.

Now that he was faced with the pale, wild-haired boy, his emerald eyes filled with exasperation, Draco couldn't help but feel captivated. Potter stared at him, pain and sheer fatigue painted all over his face. His face was drawn and pale and his movements were tired but somehow still sure. His entire body held the signs of a deep exhaustion and Draco's stomach churned with what could have been genuine worry. Yet aside from all that, he was still… beautiful… defiant and fierce and strong and everything that made Draco's chest pound and pants tighten.

Potter had been his obsession for weeks and he was beginning to get restless, his fingers itched. He had to see him, talk to him, touch him. But it wasn't until that very moment that he knew he had to take action.

Draco leaned a little closer, eyes fixed determinedly on the smooth expanse of Harry's neck. He was close enough for Potter to feel Draco's breath on his ear when he whispered, "Kiss me."


	9. Chapter Nine

Harry stood in stunned silence for a full minute, frozen in place by confusion and indecision. But Malfoy didn't wait for him to do anything, he moved first.

"I've been watching you all month." This was accompanied by a hand running down his chest. "Watching you hurt yourself," Malfoy's fingers scratched red tracks down his burning arms, making him squirm, his breath quickening. "Watching you study, watching you destroy yourself. And I'm frustrated. I'm fucking sick of it. Because you don't realise how good life can feel."

That was when Malfoy's hand slipped past his hips and down to the crotch of his pants, gripping, stroking, caressing. Harry leant his head against the cool stone, trying to suppress a moan of surprise. He'd never had anyone touch him there before. And, somehow, with his back against the wall, his entire body in a cold sweat, and Malfoy palming the front of his pants, it was far more erotic than his fantasies.

"Like this." He emphasised the statement by pressing his entire body flush against Harry's, his hands holding the other boy's hips close.

The warmth was ripped away from him suddenly and frightened eyes met his.

(-)

The next time Draco saw Harry the other boy's cheeks were glistening, streaks of tears decorating his face. Draco stared for a while before moving towards him. The moonlight illuminated the room dimly and the tower was chilly. Harry was sitting in his customary position on the windowsill, only every other time he had looked defiant, if slightly lost. Now he just looked broken and vulnerable. He shivered visibly, his arms hooked around his knees. Draco stood close to him, as if he could transfer some of his body warmth without touch.

"Ron's sick." The two words encompassed a range of emotions, mostly indiscernible and Draco bit his lip.

"It's okay." He offered, the uselessness of the words registering even before they left his mouth. He wished he could grab them and stuff them back in again but there was no magic for that.

"No, it's not." Harry called him on it angrily. "He's really sick. And when you're here all I can think about is what you did."

_Kiss me_. Draco remembered the widening of Harry's eyes, the tenseness of his muscles and he especially remembered the feel of his cock.

"Yeah, well, you ran." Draco muttered.

"I walked." Harry said, head hanging as if it was too heavy for him to hold up.

"Same thing. I've got the message, though, don't worry. Loud and clear." He let the bitterness seep into his tone. Draco rubbed his hands together and then made up his mind. He sat against the wall, facing away from Harry. The other boy's shadow was painted on the stones, capturing his every movement.

"Tell me about Weasley."

The shaky breath Harry took echoed loudly in the near empty tower. "He's in the Hospital Wing. We thought he was fine. We left him in the dorms. He wasn't. When we came back he had a headache. A really bad one, he wouldn't open his eyes and he kept holding his head. We took him to Pomfrey. Now they won't let us see him."

"It could be nothing." But he already knew it wasn't.

"It's something." And clearly so did Harry. "You know what the worst thing is?"

Draco shook his head, eyes burning unnecessarily.

"I don't think I can do anything about it." Harry swung his legs off the windowsill and crawled down to Draco's level on the ground. "You know what's worse than that?" He whispered, his eyes staring deep into Draco's, the bright green blinding with more unshed tears. Draco shook his head again, too caught in the other's gaze to look away.

"That's sort of a relief. To not be able to do anything. To not be in control." There was a scary expression on Harry's face, like he was torn between two things. Draco opened his mouth to spit out some more meaningless platitudes.

Warm lips pressed against his suddenly. Hands slipped round his waist and up his neck to grasp the back of his head. Draco reacted immediately, sighing into the kiss, taking the other boy's lips almost urgently. It felt like weeks since he'd last done this but it had only been a couple of days. A couple of long days, with the memory of every contour, every centimeter of Harry's body to fuel his dreams.

"I'm sorry for this." He said into Harry lips.

Harry half-laughed, half-sobbed and kissed Draco's neck. "Don't be. I think I can finally feel something."

Draco nudged Harry's head back up, recaptured his bottom lip and bit down gently. "You have no fucking idea how you make me feel. I think about you. All. The. Fucking. Time." He caressed the dip in Harry's neck, the other hand slipping up his shirt and feeling the chilled skin. The boy shivered under his touch, but leant closer, kissing Draco more passionately, all his energy, all his hope, dedicated to this one thing.

(-)

Ron's head hurt like it was cracking open. All the potions and spells that Pomfrey had used, all the magic that Ron had always relied on, they were completely useless. Never before had he been in so much pain. He wondered briefly if this was what Harry's scar felt like. The ability to form coherent thought-patterns seemed to have eluded him though and he tried not to think much at all. Nothing made sense, not the words Hermione was whispering, her voice tearful and her hands clammy against his arm. Every time he opened his eyes the rays of light from the window nearby seemed to burn into his skull.

Harry had been and gone, the expression on his face making Ron wish he could have gone after his friend. Anchored to this bed in the hospital wing, Ron felt like he would never leave. About an hour ago Dumbledore had been in, hm-ing and ah-ing over everything Pomfrey had said but offering no solutions 

that Ron could discern. They were fire-calling his parents, probably at this very moment, and fetching Ginny from classes. The burning in his head had still not subsided and showed no signs of mercy.

When he closed his eyes there was no calming dark behind his lids. Well, there was, but it was a different kind of dark. Flashes. Flashes of people, events, places. People doing things they shouldn't usually. Pain, sometimes. Crying, often. Ron felt like every flash was a blow, like someone punching him in the face. It tore him with indecision, to open his eyes and be burned by the light, or to close them and be hurt by this strange new kind of pain.

It had occurred to him that perhaps he should have spoken up about the bizarre things he had been seeing. This stemmed from that, he was sure. Because now he had to find a coherent moment in which he could let someone know what had been going on. Although, if he didn't even understand it, what were the chances he could explain it to someone else?

Ron wondered if maybe Bill or Charlie might come. He hadn't seen either of them in a while. Especially Bill. Bill was probably his favourite brother, Ron considered, most likely because he had treated Ron the nicest when he was little. He wouldn't mind seeing Bill again. The pain was addling his brain, Ron decided, to be thinking stupid things like that now.

Dumbledore was back, he could hear the old man's voice distantly, but he couldn't open his eyes long enough to focus. The sound of a familiar sob made him wince, it was so loud. It was his mum. There were other voices too but it was too hard to concentrate on them. His family he supposed. And Madame Pomfrey. In between painful flashes, he caught snatches of serious conversation.

_Red hair waved in the wind, a smile on her face gleamed in the sunlight, bright, alive-_

"…too extended… unforeseen side-effects… Professor… no good… different…"

_Sudden pain. Flaming hot cheek. Neck sore from the whiplash. _

"…Mungos?… potions… Snape… firecall… sorry…"

"_It's a bunny rabbit."_

"_That's not a bunny rabbit, stupid, it's a cow." _

"_I'm not stupid, you're stupid."_

"_Don't call me stupid!"  
_

"… have to… lucid… bad headache…"

_- Not alive. Dead. Dead. Dead. Neck snapped. Pale skin, cold, dead._

Ron opened his mouth, feeling his dry lips crack as he did so. "Hurts," was all he managed to say before his throat closed up. He tried to shift in the bed. Faces drifted over him and a hand directed a glass of water to his lips. He sipped gingerly, swallowing was no small feat.

He opened his eyes, squinting at the light. Someone pulled the curtain. His head felt like it was full of bludgers. The room swam above him before coming into sharp focus. A whole gaggle of red-haired Weasleys surrounded his bed. Mrs Weasley sobbed as he attempted to sit up.

"What happened?" He asked, accepting the help of Bill as he propped himself up on pillows. Bill had come, he noted absent-mindedly. That was important.

"I believe you have been having precognitive visions, is that right?" Madame Pomfrey came to his side with a green potion. He stared at her dumbly. How did she know? "They are the source of the severe migraine you are experiencing. That is why we can't offer you adequate relief, there are no potions in our stores that are able to ease Seer headaches."

(-)

Harry rested his head in the nook between jaw and shoulder on pale skin. White blond hair mixed with jet black hazy on the edge of his vision. He could feel Draco's pulse under his cheek, the moment thrumming with life. He hadn't felt this connected with anyone for a long time. He let out a deep breath, seeing the shiver travel down Draco's body.

"It's cold here and these stones are really uncomfortable." His voice whispered in Harry's ear, deliberately quiet as if trying to preserve the atmosphere.

"Stop whining." Harry whispered back, content to revel in this perfect moment in time.

_Perfect?_ Harry almost cried out at the intrusion. Draco jerked at the sudden tense start that twisted through Harry.

"What's wrong?"

_He is using you. He is a Slytherin, a Malfoy, a traitor._ The last word betrayed the anger Tom had previously denied regarding Draco.

"Shut up."

"Excuse me?" Draco exclaimed in surprise.

Harry flushed with embarrassment. "Not you."

_Just the voice in your head? Brilliant idea, Potter, you sound certifiably insane. _

He ground his teeth until it hurt, biting back his reply. Tom was right, how could he explain this to anyone? He didn't even know for a fact that he wasn't insane, that he hadn't just created Tom, hadn't completely cracked and failed to notice. He couldn't remember the first time he'd heard the voice, it had just crept in slowly after the visions. It became a regular side-act in his mind, often present, sometimes quiet, sometimes making a racket in his head.

"I need to tell you something. Something important."

_You tell him, everything ends. He will think you're quite mad._

Draco sat up straight, staring into Harry's eyes so earnestly and so intensely it made a fuzzy feeling spread from his stomach to his fingers. It was like his whole body was electrified, shocked into life by Draco. Draco was the most intense person he knew, extreme in moods and forceful as hell. Just being around him was such a wakeup call.

"I've been- well, it's like… okay, it's hard to explain." Truth was he couldn't form a sentence that didn't begin with 'I've been hearing voices.'

Draco didn't blink, he just looked Harry in the eye, calm as anything. He seemed to instinctively understand the seriousness of what Harry had to say, something for which Harry was immensely grateful. "Whatever it is it won't fuck this up. I've wanted this so fucking bad for so long, I can't ever let you go." And while it was crude and there was an obvious desperate undertone, it was more truth than Harry had heard from anyone in a long time.

"Voldemort can talk to me in my mind." He blurted out. There was an uncomfortably long pause. Harry stared straight into Draco's stormy grey eyes, afraid to look away lest he lose whatever they'd had just two minutes ago.

"Are you sure?" The question was steady, no sign of emotion. Harry noted the darker grey flecks closer to the pupil and how they really did make the other boy's eyes look like a dark cloudy day, storm threatening on the horizon.

"Yes. He's using Legilimency." The word seemed to spark some recognition because Harry saw his pupils dilate just slightly.

"Merlin." It came out on the wave of a heavily exhaled breath, became a hiss that made Harry nervous. He watched Draco's face turn fearful and anxious in a second flat. "Have you told Dumbledore?"

"No." Dumbledore had tried Snape already and that had solved nothing, in fact it had just made it worse. It hadn't stopped the visions, in fact it had given Voldemort even more control over him. It had gotten Sirius killed.

"Why not?"

"He can't do anything." The uselessness was what kept him up at night. The futility of everything. He was helpless, not even the greatest wizard in Britain could do anything. Harry was no longer in the driver's seat of his own life, he never had been.

"How can he? He doesn't know!" Draco's grip grew painfully tight.

"He never could before!"

"And does he know that you're hurting yourself? Of course he doesn't," Draco corrected himself bitterly. "Only I fucking know and I do nothing."

"You don't have to do anything. I don't want you to."

"That doesn't mean I shouldn't." A hand ran soothingly up the ragged, inflamed skin of his arm. "This isn't right."

"Maybe not. But right now I need it. Just like I need you."

"Yeah, right now you need me. Yesterday you didn't, this wouldn't be happening if I hadn't kissed you."

Harry reared forward, holding either side of Draco's head. The back of his head collided with the stone wall behind him, leaving a startled look on his face. Harry kissed Draco, fast, clumsy, and urgent. He pulled away, keeping his face close enough to Draco's that it was fuzzy and out of focus, even with his glasses.

"You make me feel something. You get me, no matter how much you pretend you don't. You're on my mind all the time. I need you. And I really want you. And no matter how messed up I am, I know that. So don't tell me how I feel." He hissed at the other boy. Angry and alive, his heart pounded from the contact and his frustration.

Malfoy kissed his neck, hot and wet. "Believe me," His breath was cool on his shoulder. "If you keep fucking doing that, I won't."

Harry laughed and leant back, cheek against the stone. If someone had told him a year ago that he'd be doing this while Ron was sick in the Hospital Wing, he would've laughed himself stupid. Now it just felt so real and immediate and right that he didn't care.

(-)

End of Chapter 9

A/N: sorry about the huge delays, I've been having a busy time lately. Reviews will help me soldier on so feel free to drop me a message. Also, this chapter didn't really turn out as I thought it should have, but I felt I owed you something so...


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